Needs
by purplecleric
Summary: You can't always get what you want...But if you try sometime, you just might find you get what you need (The Rolling Stones) A closer look at Alex; her wants, her needs...
1. Love

She needs this man.

Didn't realise it until the bullet ripped through his stomach, ripped through her heart.

Didn't realise how much he was part of her day-to-day existence, ever present, taken for granted but vital. Like breathing.

His warm body ready to absorb the chill she brought to bed, after nights spent strutting the docks in high heels and halter tops. The fresh coffee on the nightstand as the alarm sounds. Her shirts, crisp and freshly ironed, hanging amongst his. The way they move around the small kitchen, the smaller bathroom: never colliding, never in each other's way. The shoulder massages, the foot rubs; never requested but always provided. The way he just _knows_ it has been a bad day; warm scented bath water waiting...

There is so little time left, and she is selfish, greedy for every precious second. Resentful that she has to share this time with the doctors, the nurses, his partner, his squad, his captain, his family... the seemingly never ending procession of false cheer, forced smiles, evasive answers and barely suppressed tears. But she lets them come, sits with her back straight, face stoic while the voice inside her head rages "Go away, leave him alone, leave us alone..."

Leave us alone because there is so much left unsaid.

She still needs to say she's sorry.

Sorry for her mocking derision of his gift of a taser; that she now understands he wanted her to be safe, protected. Sorry for not taking his name when she took her vows and his ring; that she hadn't wanted to give up her allegiance to one cop as she pledged her life to another. Sorry for putting her career first, her marriage second and motherhood way down on the list. Sorry for all the times she lashed out with her sharp tongue and sorry for all the times that softer sentiments were left unsaid...

And she needs to thank him.

Thank him for his unfaltering, non-judgemental support in every choice she has made. Thank him for sharing his hopes, his dreams with her and making her part of them. Thank him for putting aside his gruff, practical nature to show her his tenderness, his gentleness. She needs to thank him for every promise kept, every kiss, every hug, every touch, every loving word and gesture, everything...

And finally she needs to say goodbye.

Goodbye to nights at the pub, drinking beer and listening to him sing "Wild Rover" in an off key duet with Kevin, as she and Theresa roll their eyes in mock pain. Goodbye to heated debates and companionable silences. Goodbye to the strange domesticity of cleaning their guns together; to practicing on the range, side by side in serious but good natured competition. Goodbye to their private rituals observed on St Patrick's Day, on Christmas mornings, on the first snowy day. Goodbye to days spent laughing and nights spent loving... Goodbye to dreams of being parents, grandparents, growing old together. She needs to say goodbye to him, all of him, past, present and future.

At last she is alone with him.

The words choke in her throat and she realises she is not ready, that there is not enough time; there will never be enough time to say all the things she has to say. That the words "I love you" seem too small, too inadequate to truly convey her feelings...

The steady beeps of the monitor change to a soul piercing monotone and the moment is forever lost.


	2. Family and Friends

She needs them.

Her family, her friends filled her life in the days following his death, filled her freezer and her fridge with food that was easy to cook, that required no thought. Because she is numb with shock, incapable of thought. Filled the empty silent space with noise and chatter, distracting her from the fact he wasn't there.

And she really needs them now, their solid wall of support holding her together, keeping her upright as she stands to attention beside his coffin. As the priest speaks words of resurrection and life and all she can think of is death. As Kevin plays his pipes; each searing note of "Amazing Grace" burning this moment into her brain, threatening to bring her to her knees. As the coffin is lowered and she feels a sudden urge to throw herself into the grave, to scrabble at the lid, to claw it open, to prove that he is not dead , that this is just some terrible nightmare.

But the soft thuds of earth hitting wood are the hollow sounds of reality, as are the words spoken by each mourner. "He was a good man," "He was too young," and the words she had spoken a thousand times at crime scenes and witness interviews; "I'm sorry." The stiff wool of her tunic scratching her neck as tears prick her eyes; as she is touched, kissed, held by these loved ones but never again by the one she really needs...

And she needs them at his wake; to fill the pub with the raucous stories of his life, his exploits on the job, his childhood misdemeanours. To tell his favourite jokes and sing his only song. To toast and celebrate his life, to keep him alive a little longer.

But he is dead and she is not.

Life continues; the food in the freezer runs out, there is washing, shopping, cooking, cleaning to be done. There is the return to work. And slowly, gradually the daily visitors, the constant calls taper off as family and friends get reabsorbed by their own lives again. There are family dinners, the odd drink, the occasional coffee but she feels she drags his ghost along too; his absence now as solid as his presence had once been and it makes these occasions uncomfortable, awkward.

She buys a bird as an excuse to hear the sound of her voice again in the silent rooms, and sorts through his things, sorts through her memories, folding, packing, storing them neatly away. And once again she is Alex Eames the cop; not a wife, not a widow...

But every now and then she is ambushed.

Caught out by the discovery of his button that she had promised to sew on but had never got around to. By a photo concealed in the pages of a half-read book, casually used as a bookmark. Remembering his mom's birthday and realising she would never need to remind him again. And in these moments, the grief hits her hard, smashing through her defences to release her tears.

In these moments she still needs her friends, her family but they are not here.

In these moments, she is alone.


	3. A Hero

She has always needed this man.

And he has always been there. He held her hand as she took her first faltering steps, saluted as she graduated from the Academy, walked her proudly arm in arm down the aisle and steadied her as she stumbled away from her husband's grave.

He was her teacher.

He taught her practical things, like changing a fan belt and stripping down a Glock. He taught her how to be safe, how to shoot straight and how to cripple a man with a well aimed kick. But he also taught her about right and wrong, about justice, civic responsibility and public service. Had taught her about God and Heaven and the hard realities of life. His words had shaped and defined her and she had hung on to every one.

He was her confessor.

He listened patiently as she moaned about high school boys, worried about college exams, wrestled with her choice of career. He kept her secrets; her crush on a teacher, the stash of candy in her nightstand, her desire to be tall and beautiful like the women in the magazines, her pre-wedding nerves. He wisely gave his counsel, and even more wisely, knew when to keep silent, to let her vent.

He was her mentor.

He guided her through the Academy, taught her about politics and police procedure. He supported her as she struggled to navigate her way through the buddy boy culture, the blatant and not so blatant harassment, the difficulties of being a small woman in a man's world laced with machismo. He celebrated every success, commiserated with the failures and had a tear in his eye when she made Detective.

He was her role model.

From the way he led his life, managed his family, conducted himself, she had learned the value of discipline, of being firm and resolute, of taking pride in achievements earned through hard work. From him she had also learned the many uses of humour. How it could be used as a defence, to deflect criticism, to deflate egos, to diffuse tension. How it could also be an invitation, the conspiracy of a secret joke shared, how it could imply wicked suggestion or wishful thinking.

He was her hero.

When she had finally fallen in love, she was not surprised; Joe was so like her father.

But people change and so had he. He had become worn down by a lifetime of battling against the insidious corruption, of fighting to maintain a foothold on the morally ambiguous slippery slope that starts with such a small thing, like accepting a free cup of coffee. She had heard the rumours of him taking bribes but they had never spoken of it, neither wanting to break the illusions cast in childhood.

But the double dipping had been impossible to ignore. And his weary, cynical reply to her challenge had been even harder to take.

"Well, everyone else does it. I've served, done my time, why not?"

When he had been caught, he couldn't look her in the eye.

He was her father, but no longer her hero.


	4. Attention

She had thought she needed this man.

This slight, dark, slick ambitious Assistant District Attorney, Kevin Mulrooney. The ADA assigned to her first case since Joe's death, her first investigation as a detective in the Major Case Squad.

She should have been on top of the world; a transfer to the Major Case Squad, Detective 1st Grade in this Elite Unit, one of NYPD's finest detectives... But she was suspicious of the timing, the unrequested paperwork arriving while she was still on compassionate leave, suspicious that this was some attempt to compensate a legacy cop who had lost her husband in the line of duty. Suspicious, too, of the shifty look in her father's eyes when she had told him, suspicious that he may have played a part in this transfer, had called in a few favours.

She wanted to share her joy, talk through her fears with someone who understood. She wanted Joe...

But, despite her suspicions she had accepted the transfer, could not reject the opportunity. She was determined to prove that she was here on merit, not out of pity. Prove it to herself.

Her first case, and she was lead detective; the disappearance and suspected murder of Jenny Burnham and she threw herself into the work. Worked hard to turn insinuations and allegations into hard evidence and the arrest of Boz, the victim's husband.

And that was when she had met Kevin; that was when hours in his office poring over the case files had turned to hours in the Lion's Rock Bar pouring out her heart.

She hadn't realised how lonely she had become, how one dimensional. Alex Eames the cop: nothing more. But when Kevin had suggested a drink, when he had looked into her eyes, when he gently touched her arm; she remembered. Remembered Alex the friend, Alex the wife... Alex the woman. And a pattern soon developed; the same bar, the same table, the same drinks; the bitter, raw bourbon suiting her mood more than fruitier, more frivolous drinks.

It felt so good to be part of something again, to use terms like "their table", to share...

And she had shared. Shared her memories, her thoughts, her fears, her dreams, her feelings. Shared everything and, perhaps, shared too much. All the stuff she had been bottling up since Joe's death had come out, a trickle at first but when Kevin had not backed away, the trickle had become a flood. And he had soaked it all up, with rapt attention.

This attention was what she needed, had been missing. To be noticed, to be the focus of someone's gaze, to be thought of and considered. And hungry for more, she contemplated sharing more than drinks and words with this man...

Then the trial started, and they had been hit with a flurry of motions, and there was no longer time for socialising. His ambition drove them hard, her desperation to demonstrate her worth keeping pace; she was no longer his focus and she was too distracted, too overwhelmed to try to gain it back. Until the allegations of planted evidence proved an effective strategy and Boz Burnham had walked free.

Her integrity brought into question, her confidence undermined, her insecurities growing and Kevin had been forgotten...


	5. A Partner

She needs a partner.

She needs someone to share the workload, the responsibility. She needs someone to brainstorm ideas with, to spot flaws in her theories, to fill the gaps in her skill set. She needs someone to shoulder some of the burden, an extra pair of eyes and ears, an extra pair of hands.

More importantly, she needs someone to confirm she is on the right track, to support her decisions, to back her up. She needs someone she can rely on, someone she can trust... someone just like her.

Yep, she needs a partner.

But not this one.

Not this man who is everything she is not.

This tall, dark man who has travelled the world while she has spent her life in New York. This man, who spoke several languages, was familiar with many more while she spoke only one. This well- read educated man, full of diverse knowledge while she only knew cops and life on the street.

This brilliant man who had arrived at MCS following a string of successful convictions. Just as she was still struggling with the failure to convict Boz Burnham, while she was still wrestling with the suspicions that tainted her transfer. This arrogant, unconventional man who flouted authority and disregarded procedure. Unlike her more straitlaced self, bound by her strong moral code, who had felt her self- respect crumble under the mere allegation of impropriety.

And while she has seniority, her insecurity is growing; she fears they have been partnered to make up for what she is lacking.

But she knows how to work a case, knows the job. But even in this, they differ.

At crime scenes she seeks the living and he favours the dead. During interviews she gains knowledge from persistent questions, he from photographs and trinkets. She follows the clues in linear progression, he goes off on tangents. During interrogations she remains seated, calm, professional, direct; he whispers, rages, cannot sit still for long and tackles a suspect from seemingly random directions – figuratively and literally.

And success follows success. Because his insight breaks open a case, because his compassion prompts a witness to open up, because his bizarre interrogation style produces a confession. She is just trailing along in his wake, eclipsed by his stature, his intelligence and she has never felt so small.

Desperately she searches for common ground, some sort of connection. But he is closed off, does not share and is intensely private. He is temperamental, moody, and petulant, does not suffer fools gladly; she suspects he sees her as one of those fools. Even her sense of humour fails to produce results; he just ignores the quips, the one-liners and even worse, takes her irony at face value.

He is Lucien Freud, fine dining and rich dark continental brews. She is Monet, cheeseburgers and frothy sweet lattes. He is deep, cultured, exotic. She is light, unsophisticated, commonplace. Her self esteem is at an all-time low and she cannot continue like this.

Feeling like she has failed again, she puts in a request for a new partner.


	6. Support

This man was there, just when she needed him most.

When a copy of her request for a new partner had landed on his desk, he had called her into his office, taken one look at her face and hustled them out for a drink.

It had only taken a kind enquiry, spoken in warm tones; concern evident in his eyes.

"So what's going on, Alex?"

A simple question and the dam had broken. She had spewed out her frustration, her insecurities, her fears; her voice harsh and raw with bitterness. Finally the words had petered out, the emotions draining away with them.

She gulped down the last of her bourbon, grimacing at the taste, and waited. She was filled with dread; anticipating confirmation of her suspicions, fearing that now she had exposed her weakness it would be Goren who would get a new partner...

Like her father, he had listened patiently. And like Kevin, he had given her his full attention. And when at last he spoke she realised that just like Joe, he had not judged. He had no answers, just questions. The first had been easy.

"Another?" He points at her empty glass, signalling the barman. She shakes her head; she has lost her taste for bourbon.

"Christ, Alex, how long have you been sitting on this crap?"

A simple question, loaded with implications. Why had she kept this to herself? Why hadn't she challenged, questioned, confronted? Why had her usually direct manner, her courage deserted her? It was crap? A sudden flash of hope.

"Do you think politics and pay offs influence how I run my squad? Major Case is not a vanity assignment, I need fine detectives who get results under the pressure of public scrutiny and I wouldn't approve the transfer of any cop who couldn't make the grade."

His tone is a little strident, outrage colouring his cheeks and she understands his anger. Hadn't she been equally angry when her integrity had been questioned? She looks at him; a career cop who had fought his way to his current position, no fast track promotions, and realises they are not very different.

"As for Goren... do you trust my judgement?"

Yesterday she would have said no; didn't even trust her own thoughts, feelings, decisions. But now? She watches him light his cigar; his quiet confidence, the relaxed way he is giving her time to think through her answers and she realises she does trust him. She nods, unsure if he has seen through the cloud of smoke.

"It'll work out... you'll see." He gathers up his coat, giving her shoulder a small squeeze of reassurance and leaves her to her thoughts.

She is beginning to see. Beginning to see how insidious her grief has been; seeping into every corner of her life, poisoning her perceptions, undermining her self- belief as it ate away at the very heart of her. Acknowledging this, she feels a surge of confidence.

Later, when Deakins admonishes Goren, highlighting his right brained approach and exhorting him to tick all the boxes, she begins to understand. When he praises her thoroughness, she finally gets it.

He had been there when she needed him most, and was still there for her; subtly showing her the way, supporting her, trusting her...


	7. A Lover

Oh God! She needs this man.

A shift in perspective, self confidence returning and she can now view her partner with objectivity. She sees that he has been used to working alone, that arrogance and petulance is sometimes a cover for his own insecurities and that he does not know it all... At last she finds their common ground; they are both passionately committed to getting the bad guys. And with this connection made, they find a way to work together; they become partners.

Success breeds success, and their partnership flourishes. She flourishes.

Other feelings reawaken. She finds herself watching him with a lot less objectivity and a deepening fascination. There are feelings of awe at his mastery and prowess in interrogations, envy as he gently touches a witness, jealousy as he charms the old and young but never her, the flush of pleasure as he smiles in response to her snark.

And then there's the lust.

Its secret thrill tugging at her as she watches long dexterous fingers weave a spell, long lashes cast shadows, long arms flex and stretch, and long legs straddle a chair...

And at last he turns his attention on her, blazing with intensity.

And this is when she discovers she needs this man. Needs his silken sounds, his salty tang, his feral musk, his hot hardness...he overwhelms her senses, overwhelms her. His kisses, caresses driving all thoughts from her mind, leaving her in a primal state of pure sensation; as his hands, his mouth, his body sends her soaring...

It is feverish and frenzied; impatient hands scrabbling with frustration at fastenings and fabric until at last she can feel his skin against her, feel him in her. It is languid and luxurious; hours spent in sensual exploration, tension slowly building. It is intoxicating, addictive; lying limp and spent, until he smiles, whispers, touches her just _so _and she realises she is hungry for more...

Days spent rocking their partnership, nights spent rocking the bed. Until the dawning realisation that this was all there was; that something is lacking.

Memories of Joe make an unwelcome comeback; she had pushed thoughts of him away, not wanting him to cast a spectre, not wanting to make comparisons... But they were unavoidable and they highlighted what was missing.

There were no endearing terms, no private jokes. No disputes over who hogged the covers because he did not stay the night. No debate about which film to watch because they only ever shared the sofa for sex. No times spent just holding each other, relishing the closeness; the silence speaking volumes. No secrets shared. No words of love.

Desperately she tries to breach this void. But a romantic dinner becomes a discussion about their latest case. A night at the movies turns into a lecture about cinematography and a scathing review. He listens, uncomfortably, as she expresses her hopes, her dreams, her feelings; becomes hostile and defensive as she tries to discover his. And sleeping over reveals nightmares; him pushing her away in anger and one of them leaving. And finally she admits the truth.

She wants this man, but he cannot give her what she needs.


	8. Respite

Her need for this man surprised her.

Carver had always been a necessary nuisance; the gatekeeper to subpoenas and search warrants, an obstacle to be overcome in the pursuit of a perp.

Until one day he had caught her childishly poking her tongue out at Bobby's retreating back and had said, in his rich deep, carefully enunciated tones;

"He makes me want to do that, too."

The thought of this suave, carefully controlled, precisely mannered man doing anything that absurd was so outrageous that she could not contain her burst of laughter. His slightly raised eyebrow and the small wicked smile twitching at his lips didn't help.

She began to think of his office as an oasis. Every time she stepped across the threshold, it was like stepping back in time; the polished wood, the rows of books, the green and golden glow of reading lamps. An illusion enhanced by his Old World charm and courtly manners. It was a welcome contrast to the harsh grey modernity and grim realities of the squad room.

She had come here when her frustrations with her new partner made her want to scream and the warm molten honey of his voice soothed her frazzled nerves. She had dragged in her feelings of inferiority and worthlessness and his simple gestures of holding open a door, pulling out a chair made her feel like a queen. Their shared experience of prejudice quickly made them easy allies.

He had been a welcome distraction when her fascination with Bobby had bordered on obsession, had grounded her when the affair reached dizzying heights. He had steadied her as her emotions swung between adoration and disappointment, as heady lust fought with the longings for something of more substance. As hopes and dreams clashed with the bleak reality that Bobby's defences were built too high for him to let her in. And he had kept her afloat as despair had threatened to pull her under, as the feelings of failure washed over her, as she brought the affair to an end.

And he had helped her stay the course; as Bobby's initial bewilderment had turned to a hurtful sense of relief, as her guilt and pangs of regret threatened to drive her back into his arms. His calm presence held her until there was acceptance and a small measure of relief of her own; relief and a deeper understanding , strengthening their partnership.

And even when she conspired with Bobby to sidestep his strict adherence to procedure, his door had remained open.

She had come here when her sister's plight had planted seeds of an idea and she had needed an impartial sounding board to explore it. And had discovered he was not so impartial, sharing his own experiences of a childless marriage and providing insight that had helped her reach her final decision.

And when she had come here, limp with the exhaustion of early pregnancy, he had let her nap and had woken her with ginger tea ready.

She had come here seeking solace, and she had found a friend.


	9. A Baby

She needs this baby, needs all that it represents.

The look in her sister's eyes when she had made the offer had confirmed her decision. The medical procedures had stripped it of some of its romantic idealism but the hug they had shared when pregnancy was confirmed restored her faith.

And from that moment, she had never been alone. She had spent more time with her sister than she had since they were kids, more time with her brother in law than she had ever spent. She wanted them to experience every step of the journey from the scans and blood tests to the morning sickness and swollen ankles; from the first fluttering kick to the strange distortions in her belly that revealed the presence of a fully formed foot. After all, this baby was theirs.

And when she was not with them she was at work; Deakins beaming like he was the proud father, Ron treating her with reverence, and Bobby... well, was Bobby.

And even when she was alone, she was not. Because everywhere she went she carried a passenger, one that was determined to make its presence felt as it inflicted her with heartburn and fatigue, as it stretched her stomach and subtly reshaped the rest of her small frame. Inflictions, yes, but there were also the blessings of the bubbling of its hiccups, the strange flip flops in her belly as it shifted position and in those moments she would smile that secret special smile she had seen on others and had thought would never be hers.

And as the months had passed a little resentment, a little frustration kicked in. She couldn't find a comfortable place on her hip for her holster, had to sit down at every opportunity and that made her feel even smaller. She was desk bound and had to watch with envy and a little bitterness as another detective took her place at Bobby's side, a place she had fought hard for him to recognise.

Then came the longing for this to be over, and the interminable wait for labour to begin.

And labour, when it came, was just that; fucking hard work. But the reward... oh, the reward! She sees the tears in her sister's eyes, sees her hands twitching to reach out and gently asks;

"Just give us a moment, will you?"

Then there is just her and her son. She stares, hypnotised by baby blue eyes, and her mind goes on a dreamy journey of first steps, first words, first days at school, first girlfriend...with Joe as the doting dad at every phase. Journey complete, fantasy fully indulged; she looks again... at her nephew and calls her sister, her family back in.

She watches the new family, their journey beginning and she knows she will be there for all those moments. She settles back into the pillows and feels an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, of achievement, of pride, of fulfillment. And a small edge of smugness; after all, this was something her brilliant partner could never do...

It was a relief to finally be alone.

She had needed this baby, but her sister needed him more.


	10. Strength

She needs...

Looking down at her husband's grave, looking back across the years; she wonders what she really needs.

She had needed Joe; he had taught her so much about living and loving but she had come to terms with his death. Grief occasionally still caught her by surprise and for a moment, she would lose herself in how much she missed him, how much they missed out on together. But reality quickly reasserted itself and she no longer hauled his ghost around, his dead weight dragging her down. Instead, there was gratitude for the time spent together, a small pang of regret for opportunities lost and a rich body of memories that defined love.

That thought makes her glance over at the SUV, and Bobby waiting patiently. OK, as patient as he can be; the toe of his shoe scraping patterns in the gravel path, fingers drumming out an unheard song on the roof of the car. He has become the partner she had needed; she knows when she bursts into a room with her gun drawn that he is only a heartbeat behind, his weapon aimed over her shoulder, backing her up. She has learnt to recognise his strengths, appreciate his skills, to trust his insight and he has recognised, appreciated, trusted her in return.

And she has gained a little understanding of why his defences are so high, and that knowledge brings with it some hope that one day he may open up a little, let her in. Hope that one day partnership may become friendship, may become something more...

She needs friendship. Many of the friends from her time with Joe, like Kevin and Theresa, had drifted away but that was because they were _their_ friends, not hers alone. She also suspects some survivor's guilt plays a part in their distance. But she has made new friends. She thinks of Ron and smiles at the memory of flustering his usually calm demeanour when she had hugged him, thanking him for his gift following the birth of her nephew.

A week in a spa had been much appreciated: a chance to reclaim her body, some emotional space to cope with the post natal impact of hormones away from unwelcome sympathy. Precious time for a new family to bond and for her to return, now a favourite aunt. She had always needed her family, and it felt good to be able to help when they had needed her. It also felt good to see the pride return in her father's eyes; a man she would always love, despite his flaws.

Her father prompts thoughts of her Captain and a swell of pride at her professional success. Success she has worked hard for, has earned and that she rightfully deserves.

She has come so far, dealt with so much and finally she sees what she has needed all along – strength. It was what she had needed and what she has.

A final nod to Joe, and she strides back to the SUV, feeling every bit as tall and extraordinary as her partner.

She was going to need that strength in the coming years. He was going to need her.

_A/N_

_Credit for this story must be given to HeathRowTottie, who planted a seed of an idea in a rich bed of research and nurtured it with debate and discussion. I just gilded the lily._

_Usual disclaimer: LOCI is not mine. A shame, really as we all have needs..._


End file.
